


Christmas on Baker Street

by ficsandfuckery



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Breakfast in Bed, Christmas, Gen, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:12:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandfuckery/pseuds/ficsandfuckery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wakes John up early on Christmas morning, and deduces what John's bought him for Christmas. Just a really simple, semi-fluffy, little scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas on Baker Street

**Author's Note:**

> This was me experimenting with the characters and seeing if I can/should do a full-blown Sherlock Fic. Just a small scene I wrote quickly one night about a year ago.

John woke suddenly on the morning of December 25th to the sound of a violin playing Christmas carols from the end of his bed.

"Sherlock..." he groaned sleepily, keeping his eyes closed.

"Happy Christmas, John," Sherlock replied casually, continuing to play. John glanced over at Sherlock from beneath his left arm, with which he was trying to block out at least some of the light and sound keeping him awake, and saw that trying to go back to sleep at this point would be futile.

"What time is it?" he asked, resignedly, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Sherlock stopped playing.

"I thought I'd bring you a nice breakfast in bed as a bit of a Christmas gift. That's what people like you do for their friends, isn't it?" he said in way of reply.

"What's the time, Sherlock?" John asked again.

"Half past," Sherlock replied, going back to his violin.

"Half past what?"

"Seven? I think?" John fell back on his pillow exasperatedly, "But anyway, what's it matter? I've brought you toast, and tea, and... three different kinds of jam? Really, Mrs. Hudson shouldn't have..."

"You made Mrs. Hudson get up at seven in the morning on Christmas to make me breakfast?" John asked, caught somewhere between being horrified and honored.

"Don't be silly, John, she was already awake to do my laundry. Are you going to eat this toast, because I will if you don't want it. We don't want Mrs. Hudson's hard work to go to waste."

"Did you at least let her stop between all your chores to get herself something to eat?"

"She's not our housekeeper, John, she can stop any time she wants and cook herself up something," Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes and taking a sip from John's tea before spitting it out and putting it back down on the tray. John gave him a whithering look. "It's too hot," Sherlock said defensively. John made a face and began spreading raspberry jam across one of the pieces of toast.

"Sherlock, I don't know what to say--"

"A simple thank you would suffice," Sherlock replied. John looked up at him, flustered. Wanting to retort that Sherlock was in no way the person that he should be thanking right now, but realizing that in his own mad way, Sherlock did mean well.

"Thanks," John obliged, taking a bite out of his toast, "Now why are you really up so early on Christmas morning? Not eager to get to present opening, I presume?"

"No, I already know what I'm getting, so what's the point?" Sherlock replied, lazily, putting down his violin on a nearby chair and reclining on the foot of John's bed so that his long legs extended off the edge of the bed.

"How do you know?" John asked confusedly. Sherlock looked at John with a raised eyebrow.

"You're really still asking that question? Really, John, I expected better of you," he replied.

"Alright then, what did I get you?" John asked, taking another bite and slapping Sherlock's hand away from the remaining piece of toast.

"Well your gift will be something cheap of course, judging from the fact that you're sharing a flat with me and can barely afford to keep a decent amount of milk in the place - speaking of which, we're out again - so that rules out almost anything to do with technology, that habit of mine you hate so much, or my violin. As far as gifts go that limits you almost exclusively to clothing.

"The other day you came home from the shops carrying two bags: one from Victoria's Secret, which - last time I checked - didn't sell anything for men. For whichever girlfriend you're on now then. The other was from tesco, but I saw that you failed to put any food in the kitchen immediately following your return.

"So you were hiding my gift in a tesco bag so I wouldn't know where you'd gone for me. Clever by your standards, John, but not quite clever enough. The bag was relatively large for something so cheap, and very cushiony, like a pillow or a sweater.

"Gathering from your minimal skills in perception I would assume that you know me well enough that you wouldn't buy me either of the former, so naturally it must be some horrid looking scarf. Green, judging by the colour of the lint in the dryer yesterday morning..." John shook his head, taking a sip of his tea resignedly.

"Well, there's no pulling anything over on you then, Sherlock, is there?" he asked rhetorically.

"No, there isn't," Sherlock replied honestly. John finished off his first piece of toast, before starting on the second.


End file.
